


Monster, Lovely

by roseofgalaxies (callmelyss)



Series: Rentacles [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Armitage Hux's Sad Backstory, But with tentacles, Casual Sex, Did I Mention the Tentacles, Feelings, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kylo Ren is a Tentacle Monster, M/M, Mention of past partners, Monster Kylo Ren, Oral Sex, Pansexual Kylo Ren, Porn with Feelings, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-27 12:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/pseuds/roseofgalaxies
Summary: “Wait, what?” The redhead—previously with his tongue halfway down Kylo's throat and his hand jammed into the front of his jeans—takes a halting step backward. He raises his fingers into the grimy light from the bathroom window. No mistake: they’re glistening with secretion and glowing a faint violet as he turns them this way and that, studying them. “Huh.”—It was supposed to be a casual party hookup. That was before Armitage knew about the tentacles.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Rentacles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689541
Comments: 85
Kudos: 266





	1. Kylo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With love and thanks to the always brilliant [thesevioletdelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesevioletdelights/pseuds/thesevioletdelights) and [MissMegh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMegh/pseuds/MissMegh) for the idea and riffing on Twitter. 
> 
> Once again: happy belated Huxloween! For the prompt, "friendly neighborhood monster."
> 
> There are a couple additional chapter notes and elaborations in the end notes.

“Wait, what?” The redhead—previously with his tongue halfway down Kylo's throat and his hand jammed into the front of his jeans—takes a halting step backward. He raises his fingers into the grimy light from the bathroom window. No mistake: they’re glistening with secretion and glowing a faint violet as he turns them this way and that, studying them. “Huh.”

_Huh _is one of the mildest reactions Kylo has ever received to his unconventional anatomy, well distant from the high end of _Oh, god, what the everliving fuck _is _that_. The redhead, rather than fleeing or screaming or fainting, moves closer and, without preamble, jerks down Kylo’s zipper, giving more room to the writhing mass of tentacles at his groin. A few tendrils poke above the waistband of his shorts, ends waving, slippery and florescent with the same extrusion coating those long, thin fingers. “_Huh_,” the redhead repeats, then turns his attention to his face, taking in his vertical pupils, his dappled skin, his needlelike foreteeth. “Not a costume then.”

“No,” Kylo agrees. “Or, not most of it.” He had added a few touches to make it look _less_ real, some paper mâché attachments that stuck out from under his leather jacket, a bit of silvery make-up around his eyes, silicone ears, much larger than his own. The redhead admired it all earlier tonight, shouting above the throbbing bass of the music while they danced, _I like your eldritch aesthetic,_ and later kissed him, sticky and sloppy, on the sofa. Before dragging him in here. Before.

“Huh.” He’s watching Kylo’s crotch with open interest. Not quite the way he had been before, eager, speculative, but not—_distressed_ either. Not revolted. Eventually, he glances up, through long lashes, his eyes almost colorless in the dim. Smiles softly, sweetly, and takes his lower lip between his teeth. “I’m Armitage, by the way,” he says, tone brisk, vowels as clipped as they were before, as though they’ve just met at a coffeeshop. He holds out a hand, the one that isn’t glowing with ooze.

Kylo pauses before taking it, trying not to be self-conscious of the webbing between his fingers. “Kylo,” he says. “Look, if you don’t want to—“ _I understand_, he’s going to say. It’s unusual, having to do this. On the occasions he wants company, there are message boards, subreddits, enthusiasts. His last hookup said they heard there was an app coming out, just for people with this particular kink. Of course, none of them thought he was for real at first; mostly those sites cater to the fantasy of it, all custom toys and kits and DIY suggestions. Homemade porn, often only the audio, heavy on narration. Elaborate conversations: _what if a werewolf, what if Cthulhu, what if_. All the same, few of them had been unhappy to find out he was the real deal. He's careful about his choices. Must be.

He hadn’t planned on anything tonight. Had only liked the mood of the house party down the block. His neighborhood's a little rundown and recently invaded by hipsters, desperate for cheap rent and enamored of the decaying Victorians, _vintage, authentic_, etc. But they throw good parties. He doesn’t get to go out like this often, more or less as himself, no camouflage or coverups, except for this time of year. No one glances twice at him on Halloween; the holiday appeals to him just for that. He can dance and talk to people, undisguised. But he couldn’t have expected Armitage—his face and jeans and shirt painted, he explained, patiently, as he must have done all night, like the Hubble image of the Ghost Nebula—to take an interest. Hadn’t imagined he would grab his hand and pull him in here.

He expects even less for him to dive back in now, one arm crooked around his neck as he kisses him again, tongue darting carefully between his sharp teeth, his free hand sliding down his torso and into his shorts.

“Is this—is it okay,” Armitage asks, pulling back when Kylo doesn’t reciprocate. His pupils have distended, devouring his irises, but his eyes are clear and cogent otherwise, and he’s regarding him with concern. 

_I should be asking you that_, Kylo wants to protest, but he rallies. Manages to nod. Caresses the sharp line of his cheek. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

He smiles again, wider this time, bordering on ecstatic. “Good,” he says, and shoves his hand down his shorts into the twisting arms and tendrils above his thighs. They wind around his fingers and wrist immediately, tugging them farther in, the suckers pulling at his palm, and Armitage gasps. “Do they—do you—”

“They react,” Kylo explains. He closes his eyes, sighing, as Armitage rubs the pad of his thumb down the smooth side of one, letting him explore them, and they him, learning the silky texture of his skin, the architecture of his hand and wrist through that other sense. He can almost see it, the shape of the heat signatures. The tentacle pulses around Armitage's fingers, secreting more lubrication. Kylo's more agile with the others, the ones along his spinal ridges, more like extra limbs, but he won’t see those. They’re tucked away, hidden by his shirt and broad shoulders. “They like you.”

“I like them,” Armitage tells him. “Very much.” His light, curious touch moves to the center of the mass and closes around Kylo’s sheath. “And. Ah. Is this your cock?”

He glances down and clears his throat. “Er, sort of. It, um.” In his grasp, the outer shell parts, the soft organ inside lengthening and thickening. It’s shorter and fatter than any of his tentacles, broadening into a blunt arrowhead at the tip, but long enough for most, he’s found. It waves slightly. “It—reacts, too.” 

“_Oh.”_ Armitage's throat bobs as he swallows. “Oh, Kylo. Will you fuck me with that? Please?” His voice has gone hushed with something like reverence. He looks at him, intently, eyes searching his, lips parted and shining. 

_You’re beautiful_, Kylo almost blurts. Muffles it by kissing him as hard as he can, catching his answering growl between his teeth. _Yes, yes, I’ll fuck you._ It’s a small bathroom, narrow and dingy, and he walks Armitage back into it, mindful of the cramped space. Presses him against the sink, rucking up his shirt as he does. The skin underneath is pale and soft and delicate; Kylo drags his nails over it, wishing immediately that he could see more of him. He settles for squeezing his narrow hips, enjoying how they fit in his hands while Armitage works his own jeans open. He lets Kylo tug them down, along with a pair of black cotton briefs. His dick is as human as the rest of him, chubby and rosy and already half-hard, but Kylo likes it. He likes all of him, he’s finding, from his bright hair to his posh accent to the pretty way he moans into Kylo’s kisses.

_So pretty_, and even more so when Kylo curls an arm around his waist and draws him in again, bringing his dick into the embrace of his tentacles, the wiggling, feeling arms reaching for it immediately, wrapping around head, shaft, balls altogether, and pulsating.

“Oh, fuck,” Armitage wails, twitching forward. “Fucking fuck. _Kylo_.”

And he might like best of all how he says his name like that, needy, his voice snagging on the first syllable, falling free on the second.

For a long moment, Kylo holds him like that, bringing them flush, chest to thigh, encouraging Armitage to thrust into the clutch of his tendrils, his own dick coiling against his, the two of them already wet, making slick noises as they move unsteadily against each other, loud over the sound of their breathing, catching between kisses. 

“W-wait,” Armitage interrupts, finally, even as his hips stutter forward, seeking more. He plants one hand on Kylo’s chest, shoving him gently off. Lets out a shaky laugh. “Keep that up, and I’m going to come before you get a chance to put that magnificent thing in me.” He runs his fingers up and down Kylo’s dick, squeezing it, appreciative, before he scowls and pokes him—hard—in the sternum. “And I would _not_ forgive you for that.” 

Kylo snorts, lifting both his hands and his unwinding arms in surrender. “Can’t have that, can we.” He smiles, showing Armitage more of his teeth, no longer worried he’ll be put off, and, on a whim, kisses the end of his nose. Then, grabbing him again, Kylo turns and bends him over the sink, letting him brace himself on the porcelain edge. Presses close over his back as he does, his mouth on the nape of his neck, his nose rubbing against the short, buzzed hairs there. He tightens his grip Armitage’s waist, fitting his cock and tentacles snug along the curve of his ass. He can see himself over his shoulder in the bleary mirror, the twilight flash of his retinas, the fluctuating patterns on his skin, his long teeth, the shadowy smudge of his hair, indistinct, like a specter. “Better?”

Armitage squirms against him, impatient. “Getting there.” He groans as Kylo’s slenderest grasping tendrils dip between his cheeks, suckers clinging to the sensitive skin. Whines, but not in fear. “Please. I want to feel them. You.” His eyes are already gleaming, meeting his in the mirror.

Kylo’s already slick enough to push into him—stroking his sides with his hands, soothing, as he does—the skinny end of one tentacle sliding past the ring of muscle, which opens for him with little resistance, inviting. He watches Armitage in the mirror as he does, wanting to ease the pinch between his eyebrows at this first breach. Takes in the lax _o_ of his mouth, his fluttering eyelashes as Kylo goes on, that prehensile arm tracing the inside of him, mapping and learning him, exploring everything it can reach. Armitage cants his hips into the touch, the way he might his fingers, trying to take him deeper, wordlessly asking for more, and Kylo lets another tentacle glide into him, quicker than the first. The two rub together, stretching him as they drag past one another in tandem, fucking into him, slowly, then faster—faster.

“Yes,“ Armitage chants while they move. His hands spasm on the sink, the one slipping. “_Yesyesyes_. Another. Give me another.”

Kylo kisses under his ear, along his hairline, and a third tentacle ripples into Armitage, undulating as it joins the others, some slight friction between the three of them as they shift, together, then separately, sprawling outward. The three of them are each as thick as one of his fingers at the base, and if he leaned back, he would see them filling Armitage, see him taking them, greedy for them. But he’s too preoccupied with his face, the way he’s shut his eyes, as though to concentrate on the sensation, those three arms twisting and wiggling.

“Oh, _oh _shit,” he gasps, breath fogging the mirror. “That’s—“

The tip of one tendril flicks deep within him, nudging that especially sensitive spot, and Armitage arches up against Kylo, trying to meet the pressure, clenching down on him as he does. Each of Kylo’s tentacles spasms in answer, including the three buried in him, the others writhing over the tender skin of his ass, his upper thighs, his lower back. Kylo groans into his hair; his dick is filling, reaching its full length, wet and ready. He wants—

“Please.” Armitage is panting freely, his pink tongue showing. Trapped tears glitter in his lashes. “Kylo.”

He withdraws, suckers pulling free, catching at his rim in succession as they do, wringing minute whimpers from him. Kylo does shift back to look at him now, the smears of purple along his hips and ass, staining the bottom of his shirt. He’s covered in it—and uncaring. Only begging for his cock, in so many words. Demanding it, imperious, and never mind how quavery his voice sounds as he does it. 

Kylo will not deny him, not when he spreads for his legs for him like that. Not when he turns his face, trying to catch his lips when he kisses him again, messy, mostly hitting his ear, one sideburn. Not when he grins at him in the mirror, brow furrowing as Kylo eases back into him, this time with the tapered end of his dick, filling him gradually, stretching him over the thickest part of him, about halfway, and more, until he finally bottoms out, fully seated inside him, shaft rolling in shallow waves. Armitage hot and wet and pliant around him, holding him perfectly. “Perfect,” Kylo says aloud, into his shoulder, nuzzling where the collar of his t-shirt has fallen askew. He skims his fingers up and down his trembling belly, waiting. Enjoying, too, the totality of this, feeling him so completely, where they’re connected, yes, but also every minute shiver where his tentacles are splayed over him.

In the mirror, Armitage’s cheeks are wet with fresh-fallen tears, his make-up streaking, his mouth shiny with drool, his eyes dark and dazed, pupils blown. His grin gentles into something like that smile from before: soft, wondering, blissed-out. “You can—yeah,” he says. “Like that.”

Kylo doesn’t need to pump his hips to fuck him, but he does anyway, rocking Armitage forward and against the sink. The party outside has long ago fallen away, but he wonders if anyone can hear them, the slap of skin on skin, Armitage’s increasingly loud cries as Kylo rocks into him, hitting him deeply, his cock moving independently of his thrusts, stretching and rippling against smooth muscle, making Armitage moan and beg, his voice slurring. 

“More,” he gasps. “I want more—Kylo—give me more.“ One hand scrabbles back, grabbing for one of his tentacles, stroking it, encouraging it.

Kylo obliges him, pulling at his rim with one tendril before sinking it in next to his cock. It feels good, the extra movement making him groan, too.

“Another,” Armitage moans before long.

He pauses, frowning. 

“I can take it,” he insists. “Just one more. I want to know what it feels like.”

His mouth falls open as Kylo does, his hips twitching backward, spasmodic, involuntarily. “Yes, yes. Fuck yes,” he swears, making it sound more like an invocation than an invective. 

They fall into it then, Kylo as overwhelmed by Armitage and the two tentacles pulsing next to his cock as he must be, stretched wide as he is, and Kylo descends into a harsher, faster rhythm, fucking into him without restraint, every part of him seeking more. He can’t help it. It isn’t—it’s never been like this, Armitage impossibly eager for him, taking all of it, praising him with every broken curse and moan. “You feel so good,” Kylo tells him back, voice rough, almost snarling. He bites his lower lip, drawing blood, rather than puncture the pale skin of his shoulder. “You’re incredible.” 

“You are,” Armitage swears back. “I never thought—“ He flings a hand up, cupping Kylo’s neck, holding onto him through another rough thrust. “God, this is unbelievable.”

“Going to come soon,” Kylo warns.

He’s shuddering under him, maybe close himself. “G-go ahead. I want you to.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, and everything into Kylo lets go, except for his grip on Armitage. His cock bulges as he finishes, pumping into him with several long spurts, substantial, as it always is. _Prodigious_, one of his subredditors said, an older woman with horn-rimmed glasses and very specific, scripted requests. _Holy shit_, most of the others said. He watches Armitage’s eyes widen in the mirror as he realizes just how much there is, that it continues well after that first gush, filling him up, held in by his cock and tentacles. Then his eyes roll back, and he comes, too—_hard_—splattering the sink and his own stomach, chest, Kylo’s fingers. He sags after that, going ragdoll limp under Kylo while he pulses one more time inside him. 

It’s a moment before either of them moves, before the rushing in his ears has quieted, leaving only the _thumping_ sound of the music outside the door. He eases out and off of Armitage, stumbling back against the far wall. But even that’s too much effort, and he sinks down onto the tile, stunned. 

Armitage is still panting, his thin shoulders heaving. The arc of his spine shows where Kylo shoved up his shirt; his ass is slick and open, luminous come running down his thighs, glowing, and his jeans around his knees. He reaches around to feel himself, slides two fingers along his rim and brings them out to look at them, considering, and rubs them together. “Holy shit.”

“You okay?” Kylo asks. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had a profound reality check after he came in them. A peculiar sort of ache creeps through him at the thought Armitage might, too. For all that they just met.

“I’m—“ He turns, unsteady, hobbling, clutching the edge of the sink for balance. “I’m fucking _fantastic. _Kylo, that was amazing. Thank you.” His face has lit up with a broad, incandescent smile, bright despite the gloomy room.

He can't help but smile back, relieved. “Really?”

Armitage lowers himself, slowly, carefully, wincing, kneeling next to Kylo, and reaches for him, curling one hand under his hair to kiss him messily, but oddly tenderly. “Of course, _really_. You. Shit. I’ve never felt that full. And the way they—” He wiggles his fingers, emulating. “And all that _come_. I think you’ve ruined other cocks for me. Fucking hell.” His free hand goes to Kylo’s tentacles, comparatively subdued, although they wind over his knuckles, friendly. To his shock, Armitage bows his head and kisses them, too, gently, on the tips, one by one. He jerks back when Kylo shudders. “Oh, shit. Sorry, they’re not oversensitive, are they?”

Unable to speak just yet, Kylo shakes his head, letting him return to his ministrations, showing affection—gratitude?—to each tendril. 

Armitage strokes his hair. “You are so, so lovely,” he murmurs. Looking at his face now, Kylo realizes.

He doesn’t blush, not the way people do, but the patterns on his skin darken and shift; he can feel them doing so. He traces Armitage’s jaw, the underside of his chin, his swollen bottom lip. A smear of Kylo's dark blood there, and more violet slick. Not that he seems to mind. “You’re gorgeous,” he says aloud, awed.

It’s dark in the bathroom, but he thinks Armitage _does_ blush before he shuffles closer to him, heedless of the utter disaster they both are, clothes disordered, tacky with their combined fluids, and leans against Kylo’s side.

A moment passes before it occurs to Kylo to put an arm around him. 

Armitage nestles closer, tucking his head against his shoulder, sighing in apparent contentment.

And that—that’s new.

“You know,” Kylo says, after some time has passed, although his pulse hasn’t slowed. “I could have been some terrible creature that lured you in here to eat you up.” He doesn’t know why he says it, more musing than warning. 

He chuckles, low, raspy, voice ragged. Tangles his fingers with Kylo’s, caressing his webbing. “I like that. We could role play it. You could show me more of those teeth. And I’d cry and beg you to spare me. ‘Please, please, anything but that. Here, wouldn’t you rather fuck me instead?’"

He shakes his head. "I mean it. Some people would assume, if they saw me."

"Hardly." Armitage makes a soft, dismissive noise, scoffing. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

“You did?” Kylo twists, frowning down at him, seeing his sanguine expression, wholly untroubled. “You do. How?” 

He reaches up, lifting one hand to stroke his cheek, to trace where he bit his lip. “Your face. The way you looked,” he explains. “When I touched you.”

He’s halfway into Kylo’s lap already, so he pulls him the rest of the way, sideways, his long legs outstretched, and kisses him thoroughly. Still mindful of his sharp teeth, although Armitage appears to have gotten used them already. Seems happy enough kissing him back, in fact, arms curled around his neck. Everyone else he’s been with was headed for the door by now, not necessarily unhappy but not inclined to stay with him either. Armitage doesn’t move, manifestly not fussed about getting dressed, even though he begins to shiver in his arms after a while. Must be cold. It is, here on the floor. Kylo’s body temperature is naturally lower than the average human’s, and he feels an unfamiliar pang, that he can’t warm him up by holding him. Chafes his back and arms for him instead.

The knock on the door startles them both.

“Just a minute,” Armitage calls. 

“Should probably clean up,” Kylo suggests, not without regret. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, pecking him once more on the lips before crawling off him and standing, somewhat unsteadily. He scrounges around, wrinkling his nose at the thin, gray towel he finds. Dabs the worst of the mess away with toilet paper and swabs his thighs, businesslike. “The ride home will be interesting.” He snorts. “With your come leaking out of me.”

“Sorry about that,” Kylo says. He straightens, doing up his jeans. Goes to wash his hands.

Armitage presses up against his side, scrubbing his own, too. “Don’t be.” He pauses, worrying his lower lip, meeting Kylo’s eyes in the mirror. “In fact. Um. Maybe you could. Well. Do that again. If you want. After this? We could get some food first. My treat.”

Kylo blinks at his reflection, then at him. “You mean, you want to—”

He’s had a few repeats, but not many. He suspects the novelty wears off, especially after they talk to him, dispelling whatever fantasies they had. _The creature speaks_. The idea appealing more than thinking about another person (and he is, he knows he is). And no one has ever asked him to go with them anywhere, to do anything more than show up in a motel room. 

“Of course you don't. Never mind. It was a silly idea.” His face has gone blank, neutral, and he turns, fixing his clothes. Another knock comes at the door. “Almost done!” He smiles, looking away. “Should go. Poor bastard’s probably going to get a kidney infection if we make them wait any longer.”

“Hang on.” Kylo closes both hands around his waist, stilling him. Would wrap every arm around him, if he could. “You want me to. Go home with you? Really?”

“‘Course I do,” Armitage says. “I saw bloody supernovas, Kylo. But if that’s not how you prefer—”

He shakes his head, cutting him off. “I would like that,” he promises, quickly. “Very much.”

He beams. “Yeah?” The knocking on the door intensifies to banging. “_One more second_, _for __fuck's sake!” _He turns back to Kylo. “Do you like Thai? I’ve got a good restaurant on PostMates.” He cocks his head, smile turning sharp, sardonic. “I guess you could always eat that wanker out there, if that’s more to your taste.”

“No, I. I like Thai,” Kylo says.

Armitage licks his lips and looks him up and down, appraising. “Thai it is. And maybe then we can see how many of those beautiful tentacles of yours I can take at once. I’ll even let you ruin my sheets.”

He swallows, feeling no little squirming in his shorts. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Let's do that.”

“Excellent.” He holds out a hand. “Shall we?”

He stares down at it, bemused, before Armitage reaches over and snags his fingers, interlacing them firmly with his own above the webbing. With the other, he opens the door. Leads him out. They receive a few glares from the—extensive—line outside the bathroom, but nothing more than that, no one looking twice at them in the throng of dancers and clusters of people, Solo cups and bottles in hand, and never mind the florescent stains on their clothes or Kylo’s flashing eyes or the rest. It’s a perfect time of year, he decides, Armitage’s hand snug in his as they leave the party, stepping out into the autumn air. 

Kylo leans closer to him, allowing one of his tentacles to crawl down his sleeve and into Armitage’s back pocket, feeling the soft swell of his ass through the denim, with the memory of much more thrilling along his skin. 

He returns his smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the tag about past relationships, Kylo alludes to the fact that he has casual hookups with monster enthusiasts he meets online. Armitage briefly suggests the idea that he and Kylo might role-play an abduction, fuck-or-die type scenario, although they do not. 
> 
> —
> 
> ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/aroseofgalaxies))
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Armitage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few clarifying chapter notes at the end. Thank you for reading!

The sunlight rouses Armitage finally, late October light washing honeyed across his sheets. Odd, that. It isn’t like him to leave the curtains open, especially after a night out, and he blinks owlishly at the windows and the blue sky beyond. He had gone to a party yesterday, hadn’t he? One of Phasma’s infamous Halloween parties, in that shitty neighborhood she favors, and she always twists his arm into going, even though the music’s too loud and the place is too crowded and he still never has anyone to talk to, especially since _she _inevitably ends up making out with some girl in the corner. Every time. Last year, he got anxious, drank too much, and threw up in her azaleas, and it served her right. 

He should find better friends.

This year, at least, his head isn’t pounding. His arse, on the other hand, is _aching_. He stretches, grimacing at the answering twinge of pain. He must have gotten fucked within an inch of his life last night to feel like this. He must have. He fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand, ignoring how every muscle in his lower half protests, shrieking. Blinks down at his wrist, where there are parallel rows of purple splotches wrapping around it, some dried, flaking substance, almost in the shape of—

Two things happen in rapid succession.

First, the night before comes back in neon-bright detail: the memory of writhing tentacles and a breathtakingly dextrous cock and so much slick, glowing violet come; of kaleidoscopic eyes and silky dark hair and a rumbling voice; and, maybe above all, of a shy, sharp smile, and one large hand clutched in his. 

Second, Kylo?—yes, that was it, _Kylo_—ducks sideways through his bedroom door, as though summoned. Wearing—well, mostly wearing—Armitage’s fuzzy blue bathrobe and carrying a tray with a covered plate.

“Is that food?” he asks, startled at the high, scratchy sound of his own voice.

But then, he did more than his usual share of screaming last night, especially here, on his hands and knees, Kylo pushing yet another tentacle into him while he arched his back and shuddered and begged for more. He swallows, struggling not to look at his guest’s crotch, where the odd tendril or two might have escaped the robe. 

“Uh, yeah. Pancakes,” Kylo says, showing him, as if to prove there’s nothing amiss. A glass of orange juice, too, and, bless him, fresh coffee. “I thought. Maybe you’d be hungry. Since it’s late.”

“You made me pancakes,” Armitage says, monotone. No one, not one boyfriend and certainly none of his one-night stands, ever made him morning-after pancakes. Hell, most of them didn’t even offer to make him coffee before he showed them the door. If they said goodbye at all.

And fine. He didn’t _need_ their shitty coffee, he'd reasoned.

Kylo frowns. “If you don’t like them,” he starts. “Or if you want me to go, I can—”

“No!” He could kick himself, even though he suspects that would hurt like a bastard and a half this morning. He recalls of Kylo the night before, his incredible anatomy, yes, but also his reticence, how he’d looked when Armitage asked him back here. How he does now, like he might bolt at the wrong word, the first sign he’s not wanted. And—most shockingly—Armitage doesn’t _want_ him to go. He shakes his head, clearing it. “No, I. I like pancakes. Would love some. I’m just not used to getting breakfast in bed. Thank you.” 

That shy smile is back, and with it, something complicated and frankly terrifying happens between Armitage’s lungs. “You’re welcome.” 

Kylo approaches the bed cautiously, perching on the edge as he sets the tray down between them. _Hesitant_. Despite everything, despite the fact that he must have slept here next to him last night. Did, Armitage’s nearly sure. He has a vague recollection of throwing both an arm and a leg over him, one hand splayed on that stunning torso. But then, all of him is stunning, even more so in the daylight, the stippling patterns shifting over his skin, pale, mottled grays edged in shades of red, the colors clearer, darkest along the bones. His eyes similarly variable, speckled and chimerical, greens and golds and browns, the vertical pupils narrowed to slits. And, of course, not least, the inky tentacle sliding out from his sleeve to adjust something on the tray.

A small, yellow flower.

Armitage swallows, hard, and reaches for the coffee, if only to have something to do with his hands. He breathes in the aroma of roasted beans, sighing, before he takes a cautious sip, then another immediately when he realizes he doesn’t hate it. “Kylo,” he murmurs. “This is excellent.”

His expression brightens, the dappling on his face growing starker, more vivid. “I’m glad you like it.”

_Makes good coffee, can bugger you senseless with his _prehensile cock _and holds you after, has the sweetest, saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. Oh, and he cooks. How is this possible._

He looks down at the plate and smothers a shrill little laugh when he draws back the dishtowel. Pancakes, yes. In the shape of octopuses. They're smiling.

“Are you all right?” Kylo’s brow furrows.

“Yes, I’m. Just a touch tender from last night.” It's not untrue. He smiles. Picks up the fork and cuts off a piece. Dips it in the little saucer of syrup, careful of the flower next to it.“But I’ll be all right.” He takes a bite of the warm pastry. Closes his eyes against the flavor, butter and syrup. A childhood taste. Sunday mornings. _Mum_.

Kylo’s watching him, doe-eyed, when he opens them. “You, um. Have a nice place. I like the view.”

It is. He’s worked hard for it, to make something of himself. Not that much else has come of all the long hours, just an empty flat full of pricey furniture. Not even a cat for company. He looks out the window, then at the man on his bed. “It is nice, isn’t it.” He clears his throat, holding out a forkful of food. "These are very good. Want some?"

He hesitates before opening his mouth, showing those slender, piscine teeth, something trusting about that, for all that they're sharp. Armitage navigates the fork between them without trouble. Smiles as he accepts the bite.

They shared an order of drunken noodles and tom kha gai last night. Sat on Armitage’s kitchen floor and ate from the takeout containers until he had climbed into Kylo’s lap and kissed the taste of chilis and coconut milk from his lips. Until he took him by the hands and led him in here. He should be embarrassed, probably, to have asked a Halloween party hookup back to his flat for seconds. Should feel horribly exposed at how eager he’d been, how obvious it was that he—and maybe worst of all that he encouraged him to stay the night. But he can’t quite reach that yet, not looking at Kylo, not remembering how good it had all felt. During and after.

Armitage shoves more pancake into his own mouth to keep from saying something foolish. “Did you sleep well?” he asks. A good, safe question. 

"Yes." Kylo tilts his head, inquisitive. Looking eminently human this way and, at the same time, so much more than that. 

"What?"

“Nothing. Only, I didn’t know you wore glasses." 

He bumps the frames up his nose, trying not to be self-conscious. Another reason he didn't have people stay over. “Just at home,” he explains. “I have my contacts in, usually.”

He scoots closer, his gaze roaming over Armitage’s face. “I like your eyes.”

“I like yours,” he replies, automatic. He does. They’re as fascinating as the rest of him. He had thought so even before he realized how much of it was _real_, extra appendages and all. Impossibly real, and yet here he was, wearing Armitage’s robe and bringing him breakfast and touching his cheek, far too tenderly, while his irises flicker and change. 

“You’re very pink.”

Armitage coughs and turns his face away. “Well, I’m half-Irish, so.”

“You haven’t asked me what I am,” Kylo points out, obviously puzzled. “Most people do.”

It's true, he hasn’t inquired about his particular hybridity, whether it’s hereditary or something else. Even if said hybridity has been solidly up his arse more than once in the last twenty-four hours, it seems impolite to ask those sorts of questions.

He cocks his head, mirroring him, pretending to survey him. “I’m guessing Bavarian? Maybe a bit Scottish? I can never tell with Americans. Why—is it something unusual?”

Kylo smiles.

Armitage shifts, mindful of his soreness. “Speaking of which.” He takes one of those broad hands in his, turning it back and forth and admiring the delicate, nearly translucent webbing between his fingers. Unable to help it. “I’d love to see a little more of your—unique qualities. I realize I saw plenty last night, but it was a bit of a whirl, you’ll recall.”

“Sure,” Kylo says. Easy as that, he’s shrugging out of the sleeves of Armitage’s robe, not at all bashful. 

Not that he has anything to be bashful about.

His unusual coloration continues well down his abdomen, the mottling shifting as the light hits it, or maybe with his moods, Armitage isn’t sure. He lays a palm against Kylo’s chest, watching the colors change around it, almost, he thinks, like they’re trying to mimic the freckles on his hand. The pattern follows, rearranging as he slides his fingers down his stomach. _Camouflage? _“Incredible,” he murmurs, moving to trace his arms next, where his secondary tentacles stretch outward from underneath. They wind around Hux’s outstretched fingers, suckers clinging to his skin before they pop free, light as kisses. More are curling around from Kylo’s back, reached for him, drawing him in, and when he wraps his arms around him, he can feel the ridges along his spine where they protrude. 

He must be armored there to protect them, Armitage muses, drawing his hands down Kylo’s broad back. Aware that he’s more or less embracing him, but he still can’t find it in himself to care. It was like that last night, too; he had been too giddy to do anything but reach for what was—astonishingly—being offered. Couldn’t keep from blurting everything he wanted. Namely, more of everything, of him, one quick fuck in a grimy bathroom not nearly enough.

Kylo had explained, haltingly, over their impromptu late dinner why Armitage’s invitation surprised him, that no one had asked him to come home with them before. _Idiots_, he replied, clipped, just managing to hold back the next thought, far more incriminating: _You're wonderful. _He'll have to go eventually, of course, and there's nothing to do about that. For the moment, Armitage leans against his chest and sighs. Startles at the touch of one tentacle to the back of his thigh, just below the hem of his shorts.

“Sorry,” Kylo says, withdrawing it. 

“It’s okay,” he assures him. “I was feeling you up; it’s only fair you get to do the same.”

The long tendril, about as wide as his hand at its thickest point, wraps around his leg, lightly squeezing. And to what excellent use _that_ could be put, he muses, imagining himself bound by them, spread-eagle, entirely at Kylo’s mercy (and a mercy it would be). Armitage gulps back a moan. There’s no way he can today—not anything. Will barely be able to get out of bed. May be bruised, too, from getting fucked over that sink, where the hard edge dug into him. 

“You said you were sore?” Kylo asks, voice lilting, inquisitive, interrupting his thoughts. He’s stroking Armitage’s side with one hand, gently, as though he's worried. 

He shrugs. “It’s nothing serious. Just mind-blowing sex out of my wildest dreams. Can leave one a touch tender, you understand.” He manages to stop grinning long enough to kiss him. Recalling, _yes_, that he’s brilliant at this too, even with the prominent outer teeth. They’re long and pointed, but they have a give to them that made them less daunting, softer than enamel. And Kylo retracts them so nicely. He tastes, this morning, of coffee and maple syrup, much like Armitage must, too. 

Kylo chases his mouth for another peck when he pulls back. “I could help with that, though,” he says, breathless. “With the. Um. Discomfort.”

He frowns, then looks down at the tentacle coiled around his leg, trying to understand his meaning. “With these? I don’t know that I could.“ He wants to, god knows he does, but he’s not twenty anymore. Doesn't bounce back as easily.

“It’s a—“ he gestures. “A substance my body produces. Only if you want—I can try.”

Armitage chews on his bottom lip, considering. It’s a bad habit and his tell, according to Phasma, not that it matters with Kylo. He hasn’t been able to lie to him at all, which ought to trouble him. Honesty is a liability, he’s learned more than once, knows it in every nerve and cell. But he’s as confident that Kylo won’t harm him. Had felt as much within five minutes of meeting him. It's a rare person who doesn’t make him want to flee or show his teeth. It makes sense, in retrospect, that he's something special. Rarer than rare, it turns out. _Singular_. Finally, Armitage nods. “All right. Yes. Let’s try it.” Partly because it would be nice not to hurt so much, and partly so he can have more of this, of him, before he goes.

Just a little more.

“I’ll need you to get undressed.”

He smirks. “Well, you know you don’t need to ask me twice.” It’s not quite so simple to shimmy out of his shirt and sleep shorts, but he ultimately succeeds with Kylo holding him steady, big hands cupping his waist as though they belong there.

There are, in fact, the vivid beginnings of bruises smudging under his ribs. Kylo makes a soft noise of regret at the sight of them, tracing the inflamed skin, red around the edges.

Armitage grabs his wrist, halting him, and tilts his chin up with his other hand, feeling the rasp of stubble under his palm. “I’m pale; I bruise,” he explains. “I know you didn’t hurt me on purpose.”

He’s keenly aware of the difference, he doesn’t add. More than well enough acquainted with people who would, who wanted to, whether he liked it or not. Has gotten much better at recognizing them. Hard-won lessons.

He accepts the apologetic kiss all the same.

“It’ll be easiest if you come here,” Kylo says, clearing the half-eaten breakfast out of the way, and shuffles back against the headboard, sitting cross-legged, blue bathrobe still draped over his thick thighs.

Armitage understands the suggestion for what it is, crawling over to him and into his lap again, letting Kylo move his legs so that they’re draped sideways. Not so unlike how they had sat in the bathroom last night with him sprawled, bare-arsed and sticky, across him. After. When he would have liked nothing better than to tuck himself under his chin, drowsy and more satiated than he could remember being, and stay there. This deep ache entirely worth it. Still, he hisses at the first touch of Kylo’s tentacles to the abused flesh along the backs of his thighs, and then farther up, along his cleft. The tendrils are as smooth and slick as they were last night, although far less invasive, lightly feeling his arse, not prodding at his rim, but moving over it, leaving a trail of something viscous in their wake. Maybe more of that clever self-lubrication.

Only now it has a cooling effect. Numbing, even. Armitage cranes his neck, trying to get a look. “Is that some sort of—topical anesthetic?”

Kylo has one arm around him, keeping him balanced. With the other hand, he strokes Armitage’s hair, then down one of his sideburns, and back, mussing them absently. “Something like that. And when I’m hurt, it tends to make me heal faster. I’m hoping it’ll help you, too.”

“That’s handy.” He squirms, feeling the first push of a tentacle inside him. There’s pressure but no pain, that same tingling sensation seeping into him, chilly although not unpleasant, soothing the sore muscle. “You’re quite something, aren’t you?”

The stippling on Kylo’s face darkens again, and he looks down. (What he needs with such long lashes Armitage can’t begin to fathom.) “So it feels better?”

“Y-yeah, yes, it does,” he agrees, hands clenching. "Oh." His cock has taken a not-unexpected interest in the proceedings, as those clever appendages push in and out of him. Far less insistently than they did last night, it’s true, but there’s nothing else to call it: they’re fucking him. He focuses on them, how they move independently of each other, on the grip of the suckers, trying to memorize what this is like for later. “Feels, ah. Rather good, even.”

Kylo slides one big hand between his knees, parting his thighs just enough for a few tentacles to wriggle through, and they reach for his cock immediately, familiar, winding around the length of it. Armitage moans, drawing Kylo in for a kiss as they begin to undulate. It's quiet here, with the sun coming warm through the windows, and Kylo’s arms around him, his mouth opening under his—they can take their time. He’s too tired, still, to thrust, or to move much at all, but there’s no need for either, slick tendrils sliding around and in him, sending shivers along his skin. And deeper. 

It isn’t like that quick fuck in the bathroom, when he was desperate for whatever he could have, separated from some one hundred people by one thin door and a tricky lock. It isn’t, either, like the hours they had spent at his apartment afterward, Kylo stuffing him full, gradually, almost methodically, until he came from that alone, as open as he's ever felt, wailing. No, this is slow and lazy and a little bit sloppy, those slick tentacles almost slurping at him, loud, squelching, and Armitage has to stifle a laugh against Kylo’s lips at the absurd sound of it. He nuzzles his long nose after, reassuring him.

Yes, he can simply enjoy the pleasure of this, the feeling of closeness, too. Not so concerned with finishing, though he can—_does—_feel heat and pleasure building, his cock twitching and his arse, too, both being massaged, steadily. Until he can't help but come, jerking in their grip, sighing into Kylo’s mouth as he does.

Afterward, the two of them stay like that, Armitage sprawled over his lap, accepting his kisses, while Kylo’s tentacles withdraw from him, leaving him feeling rather empty for their absence. Not aching, however, not hurting. Armitage smiles hazily at him. “I do feel better, thank you,” he murmurs, nestling close as Kylo eases them down again, pleased at the arm he drapes over his waist, how he draws the blankets over both of them. 

He even puts his glasses on the nightstand for him.

When he wakes again, he might be gone, of course. That’s reasonable. It’s expected. And fine. Armitage closes his eyes, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing, nestles closer, and drifts off again.

* * *

He blinks out of sleep, feeling less muddled as he surveys his bedroom, the afternoon light already beginning to fade against the far wall. He’s cuddled up to a broad chest, an arm—_arms_, he realizes, two tentacles, too—holding him close. No question of who he’s in bed with. He smiles, pleased, and press a kiss to whatever’s nearest: the broad plane of Kylo’s pectoral muscle, it turns out. The unusual pigmentation of his skin flickers in response, briefly leaving a pair of paler splotches where he had kissed him. Armitage watches, curious, then kisses him a second time, higher up, tracking the effect again. _And if I?_ He licks a long stripe above his nipple, delighted as the colors waver and darken. Although it tastes like any skin, like salt, sweat.

Kylo mumbles and stretches under him, and there’s an accompanying movement along his hip, the squirming of a dozen or so narrow, gripping appendages. “Armitage?”

“Hello again,” he says, airily, propping up his chin on Kylo's chest. “Sorry to wake you. It was for science.”

“Science?” he echoes.

He demonstrates, licking lower this time. “See? You're fascinating.”

Kylo blinks down at him, one set of eyelids, then the other, and laughs, low and rumbling in his chest. It’s an unfairly nice laugh. “That tickles.”

“A-ha, more data. I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“Yes, I am." The end of one tentacle flicks under his chin. Another drags down his side, teasing. "But are you?”

Armitage snuffles a laugh into his chest when that seeking touch grazes under his arm. “Mm, yes, but you’re cheating. I’m badly outgunned.” He squirms, laughing harder. "_Kylo_."

He relents, wrapping each limb around him instead, and it’s distressingly appealing to settle down against him once more, the two of them snug together, Kylo’s breath stirring his hair. Normally, Armitage would expect someone his size to be a furnace, but his skin is pleasantly cool, and that reason enough to worm closer under the covers. Share a little of his own body heat. Kylo doesn't protest, or push free, only holds him, absently stroking his hair with one tentacle.

Armitage sighs. He could get used to this, oh, all too easily. Doesn't close his eyes this time—just in case.

Before long, he’s aware of more motion against his hip, something blunt nudging him among the clinging sprawl of tendrils. 

Kylo clears his throat, apologetic, but before he can shift away, Armitage slips a hand under the blanket, curling his fingers around his unfurling cock. “Hm? Have I inspired something?”

“You feel really good,” he confesses. “But you don’t have to—“

He puts a finger to his lips, hushing him. “If I want to, that’s okay, right?”

Kylo nods, jerkily. Looking at him like, well. Never mind. 

There are dozens of other things he wants to try, but this has been especially on his mind since last night. He slides down Kylo’s chest and belly, displacing the blankets and moving aside his robe to his mass of tentacles, that half-revealed cock in the middle of them. Armitage lowers his face to them, laughing quietly at the suckers roaming over his face, tracing his cheeks and chin, but he doesn’t let them distract him. He noses at the blunt end of Kylo’s cock, pleased when it opens farther for him. Again when he kisses down the underside. It’s smooth and even, no fat vein, with a slight bulge near the middle. Not fully uncoiled, but big enough for that. It thickens when he licks it. Just small kitten licks, teasing, but Kylo’s already groaning above him, his tentacles writhing, agitated.

Armitage remembers the feel of that cock in him, how it had twisted and moved and struck him so precisely, deeply. He opens his mouth to it now, letting it push past his lips, stretching them, and over his tongue. Strange to feel it rippling against it, touching him back as he tastes it. He relaxes his throat as it extends past his tonsils, elongating. He sinks forward, bracing himself on his forearms, nose buried in the squirming tendrils around Kylo’s groin, the lot of them brushing his skin, one curling around the back of his neck. They smell oddly pleasant: clean and almost sweet.

He chances a look up at Kylo, and he’s spectacular, his head thrown back among Armitage’s pillows, eyes closed, the patterns on his skin practically flashing as they change in quick succession. It’s unfair, perhaps, that someone so expressive should have something that gives him away that completely, his moods and reactions on display at all times. To be so continuously known. More exposed even than the soft limbs wrapped around him. Armitage strokes the nearest one, soothing, as he sucks, Kylo’s cock pushing deeper down his throat, not quite choking him.

He closes his eyes, feeling it move, ceding to that and the gentle clutch of the tentacles touching his face and throat and hair. Easy, simple to let them. His own cock gives a slight jump of interest, although he doesn’t bother with it, concentrating on Kylo, hollowing his cheeks around him and suckling, swallowing against him, sloppy.

“Armitage—“ he warns.

He strokes every writhing tendril he can reach in response, petting them. _Go on._ He’s as ready as he can be when Kylo begins to come, pumping cool spurts of thick liquid down his throat. It is, he knows, less viscous than what he’s used to, although it more than makes up for it in volume. He can’t swallow it all, although he gives it his best effort, finally pulling free when he begins to gag. Stays where he is otherwise, gasping, while Kylo comes all over his face and chest.

Armitage takes another deep breath, watching Kylo twitch and spasm, what he had only felt but not seen the night before. Every limb goes rigid, quivers, and then slackens, sagging against the bed, as if in exhaustion. 

Kylo, too, lies there, panting, expression stunned. Finally, he looks up at Armitage, eyes focusing. Sits up with some effort, reaching to cup his jaw. “All right?”

He nods, allowing a goofy smile to spread over his face. Unable to stop it. “Better than.”

“You’re kind of, um. Sticky. All over.”

He glances down. Kylo’s come, it turns out, doesn’t glow in the daylight, although it does glisten, coating his skin. Drips from his fingers. “Huh,” he says. “I suppose I should go have a bath.” He shifts, careful, trying not to make more of a mess.

Kylo straightens, face plainly falling before he starts to move. "Oh. Right. I, uh. I'll get my stuff."

Armitage puts a palm in the center of Kylo's chest, stopping him. Gives him a once-over. He’s shiny with his own fluids, hair matted with sweat. “You could probably use one, too, by the look of you,” he says, before he can overthink it.

A beat passes. Kylo is frowning at him, much as he did the night before, clearly unsure. “What—“

He lets out a breath, looking down at his hands. “Look, I’m not very good at this. I’m trying to ask you to stay,“ he admits, going for blunt since nothing more cunning occurs to him. He is usually a brilliant liar, but. He succeeds in lifting his gaze, meeting Kylo's confused eyes. “I enjoy you. All of you, not just.” He waves one hand. “You certainly shouldn’t feel obligated, but if you want to. We could put on a movie? Eat leftovers? Talk?”

_That's what people do, right?_

“I don’t understand.” Kylo blinks at him, one set of eyelids, then the other.

The desire to dissemble, to scowl, to say _never mind, I didn’t mean it_, _you know the way out_, slithers up from Armitage’s guts. But he doesn’t want to say so, not really.

So he drags hand through his hair, mindless, wincing when he recalls what it’s covered in. “I don’t know if it would be our first date or our second or third. Depends how you’re counting, I suppose. But call it me asking you out. What do you think?”

He'd liked Kylo’s slow smile, genuine, as though he’s forgotten to hide his teeth, the first time he saw it. Likes it better still now. “_You_ want to have a date. With _me_.”

"Yes." Armitage folds his arms, glaring in mock affront, finding that easier. Familiar. “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re involved or something.”

It works: Kylo laughs again, a soft, almost gurgling sound. Human. More than human. He shakes his head, hair flying. “No, I’m not involved—are you?”

“No.” He smiles again, then nods, brisk, as though that settles it (maybe it does). Climbs out of his once-again ruined sheets, chuffed to find he doesn’t hurt at all, not even stiff from the long nap. “Up with you, then. I’ll scrub behind your tentacles for you if you do my back." He holds out his hand.

Kylo takes it. Lets Armitage tug him to his feet and toward the bathroom door.

"Do you like bubbles?” 

"I—I think so."

He has dozens of other questions about and for him, chief among them, _please,_ _may I keep you?_

But this seems enough of a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few references to the fact that Armitage hasn't had the happiest life, in the vein of canon Hux. In addition to Brendol, it's implied he may have been in other abusive relationships with past romantic partners.
> 
> —
> 
> ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/aroseofgalaxies))
> 
> <3


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